You Better Bring an Umbrella, Vol. 1

Chapter 1: Number Four

To address the numbering, because of how Mina plays in, she is Number Four. 1-3 are the same, as is 5. 6 is now Klaus, 7 is Ben, and 8 is Vanya This is about to confuse the hell out of me...

Also, just as a heads up, there's about to be a lot of ballet terminology in this story. If you need any sort of reference, there's a whole dictionary of every ballet term out there. I couldn't post the link, unfortunately. 

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On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual, only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got eight of them.

Number Four: Mina

I pushed my feet over their arches, sliding my toes further into the gel pads buried deep into the boxes. Thank God for whoever invented these cushions, otherwise pointe shoes would immediately spell death to the feet of whoever dared to dance. Of course, there had been a time when women danced without them, somehow-- most likely magic. Carefully maneuvering around my fellow dancers, I reached for a wall and began to do some simple relèves to warm up my feet; get the blood flowing, so there'd be less pain in the coming minutes. I kept bouncing up and down, changing which foot touched down in front while making sure my back stayed completely straight, an artificial, red-lipped smile painted onto my face.

My foot exercises persisted until a group of five dancers, donned in shimmering white bodices and tutus, passed by, giggling and whispering among themselves. Their joyful musings fell silent as they passed by me, replaced with not-so-subtle glares and scoffs. However, I couldn't pause and let that get to me, as those girls were my cue to go backstage. I moved from the crowded hallway to the dark, narrow wings. Several other dancers walked through their steps, marking everything to make sure they wouldn't look a fool onstage. Although everyone chose to mind their own business, the looks in their eyes shimmered with the secret hope that the person in their desired role would fall,

The audience's wave of applause snapped me out of my mental trance, urging me onto the stage. I waited for the woman before me to completely vacate the space, then took delicate steps to the dead center, right where anyone could scrutinize me. The moment the music started, I began to flow through my movements, the choreography burned into my mind and muscles since rehearsals had started. I'd been getting better roles as of late, and in order to keep it like that, I needed to memorize my choreography quickly. And, of course, I couldn't mess up. That certainly would knock me down to the bottom.

I began my set of turns, attempting to ignore the tingling beginning to surge through my arms. Now certainly wasn't the time for this, even though this was exactly what fueled the sensation. I couldn't let this get to me, and I couldn't do anything to stop it without misstepping so I just had to keep going and be extremely careful with my arm movements

Delicately, I moved into a pique arabesque, holding the pose for a moment before lowering my supporting foot and dipping down into a ponche, allowing my legs to form 180 degrees before coming back up. A couple more pirouettes, a held attitude, three balancés en croix, and one last assembé, and I could finally move to my curtsy.

The moment I disappeared back into the wings, I flicked my wrists, causing the burning sensation to completely dissipate. My directors gently tapped me, congratulating me on a job well done, and I headed back to the dressing room, preparing to relax a bit before curtain call. However, when I pushed open the white door, all the other ballerina's eyes turned to me, expressions raging from concern to sympathy. I raised an eyebrow, confused as to why they even were giving me the time of day. Normally, they'd only do that if someone fell or messed up, and even then, they usually weren't good about hiding their joy. One of the smaller ensemble members, Cassidy, carefully approached me and placed a cold hand on my arm.